


I could love you to your knees

by enlaurement24



Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Magical Realism, Masturbation, Pining, a tiny little bit of, i love you mrs.chen, no actually, sacrilegious af, so much pining, some blood if you squint, these boys really practice anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:13:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23212312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enlaurement24/pseuds/enlaurement24
Summary: Brett thinks 'I'll tickle you until you pee yourself' viciously and 'you'll beg and no one will hear' but then he feels his body unwinding with a pop, the pinpricks coming off and he can settle back into his bones.(Eddy is, as always, Brett's curse-breaking one true love.)
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 23
Kudos: 148





	I could love you to your knees

Brett's curse grows with him.

They're on tour and Brett has had Eddy at his side long enough that they move around each other easily, he knows Eddy's nerves by the stutter in his breathing, excitement in the hand gestures at his periphery, can tell tiredness and comfort in the clicking his jaw makes when he yawns, relearns that self doubt sounds like popping knuckles and violin practice at 2 AM. Brett can hear his friend's smile. So he sees when it's too much, when Eddy misses returning to his own home and silence, he expects the same closeness born irritation out of himself. It comes and it leaves and he sleeps a seven hour flight with his head against a familiar shoulder. 

Eddy keeps leaving toothbrushes behind, can't really tell which is his anymore, uses Brett's by mistake, yells when he realizes. Brett laughs but it's too late, he thinks indirect tongue kiss and something inside his chest opens.

He doesn't panic until Eddy comes out from showering the way he always does, half dressed and vaguely flushed, hair sticking out in every direction. He's wearing white jeans and Brett feels like he's never seen Eddy's shoulders before. Every time he blinks is worse, the curve of a hipbone, the junction between his neck and collarbones, the pulse at his throat. When he gets the special ability to recall what shade of pink Eddy's nipples are, Brett feels like he could cry. He thinks his teeth might shatter but he makes it to the bathroom safely, tries to wash the inside of his eyelids.

He spends the entire day frantically looking at what he loves in girls, tiny wrists and nice chest to waist proportions, soft eyes with laughter lines, listens to the sounds they make. Everything's the same, except his ribs didn't use to hurt like this because Eddy is laughing while petting a very big dog and calling him over by name. 

He panics when they're back at the hotel and he physically swoons because of Eddy's bony knees.

In the morning, there's a tension headache building behind his eyes while he pretends to be sleeping, suffers through Eddy's five alarms, through his waking rustling and moaning and humming. It feels like overstimulation (like the drag of skin against sheets), like practicing with soft fingers, but Brett thinks he might still have a chance because his body stays quiet. If this goes on any longer, one of them will have to wear a bag over his head. 

Fixing the last details for their show remains the only thing comfortable, he can bounce ideas off of Eddy easily enough and they might push for different solutions but two is better than one. They concede on a few points, he wins most of them, changes to fit Eddy's wants better. Brett goes as hard as he wishes because he knows his fixed point. They find out that they have a venue with a piano but no piano stool. He gets a panicky 'bro' to his left, turns to steady Eddy and ends up half chocked up over the shape of his mouth, the new teeth imprint on his lower lip. It's the same familiar distance between them, he's known for a long time now how that shoulder feels under his palm, he knows the pull of muscle, he knows goddammit. Maybe it's misplaced envy and he should join Eddy at the gym. 

Brett doesn't need to charm the headmistress at that one music school for them to obtain a piano stool but he does anyway just to prove that he can. They're left with a few hours to practice and it's some sort of medieval torture. They need to practice together for the show and Eddy knows he gets bored when he's alone anyway. He can't run away from this but god he aches. 

Brett has been staring at Eddy's right forearm for twenty minutes straight and he's starting to wonder whether he'll ever be safe from Victorian thirst again. It's not even about the muscles or the veins, it's just something so determined and gentle in the movement that Brett's skin breaks out in goosebumps and his bow skids. His entire left leg feels like it's fallen asleep. Eddy stops with his mouth gaping, presses his teeth against laughter, resumes playing Navarra while quietly singing viola gang, runs away when Brett makes to smack him over the head with the bow. He feels dumb, slightly ashamed, tries not to look at it, the closeness is getting to him and it will pass. He keeps harassing Eddy, pinches and jabs at him any chance he has, enough that fondness washes away some of the newness. 

They're sold out as always. Brett finds a loophole. He's warm from the lights, crackling with liquid lightning and steady control from his right where Eddy stands. For two hours he only thinks of forearms and knees and shoulders. It's heavy and sticky but there's no surprise, no earth shattering strike of need to choke on. He prays for this to never leave the confines of his mind, thanks human physiology for kinesthetic memory, bows with Eddy when it's over. Out of the light, Brett hears him panting, chest moving wildly with unbidden energy, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes deep and unrestrained. He has to bite down on his cheek and there's blood already from the stage. 

He wants and he hurts all over, sharp pain ringing between his ribs. 

He knows what this is because it's always like this. He never just likes someone. He never even gets to like anyone for all it matters. Brett's love eats at him. 

They go to an art gallery afterwards and Eddy is sleeping on his feet, keeps leaning over him as he takes pictures. Brett sees his reflection in the glass casing, feels the weight of him and comes to realize that while the pain is new, his love is not. It's grown and changed and oh god, he might need to look up gay porn because he isn't so sure anymore. He turns and squeaks in Eddy's unassuming ear, moves suddenly from under him just to be a little shit, says 'let's go, hey? I'm hungry and you want tea.' The room service isn't half bad and he doesn't look at Eddy's messy eating. 

He isn't sure whether Pornhub just doesn't have good gay sex or he's just not into it. His headphones feel filthy now that it's come to this, even with the volume at a minimum so he can hear if Eddy seems to be waking at three in the night. He switches to girl/guy videos and feels mildly relieved by the familiar pull in his lower belly. Goes back to what he came here to do because maybe he just needs time. It's half an hour later that he almost drifts off to sleep to two guys trying out rope play, jerks himself awake, almost sends his laptop flying, curses. He looks panicked to Eddy's bed, sees him out cold on top of the covers, shirt twisted up from sleep gymnastics, mouth impossibly open against his upper arm. 

Eddy. Teeth. 

Brett is hot all over. 

There's sweat forming at his hairline, some wet over his spine and goddamn okay, maybe he isn't gay. Maybe Eddy is just so nice that he wouldn't mind Brett getting hard over all this. 

He doesn't actually reach that point because he spends the next hour bent in half with the worst back pain he's ever had. He has to breathe in short bursts so as not to jostle his spine. Brett remembers his first year of highschool, squeezing out a confession for his deskmate, in front of her, just so the pain would stop, remembers Eddy angry that he would go through that rather than speak up. 

Eddy will know. Eddy will know anyway so Brett throws a pillow at his head and it doesn't work, squirts some water on him from the bottle by his bed. His jaw is set too tight to speak and if he opens his mouth he might start crying. 

'Oi, what what dude what the fuck, Brett?' 

He grits his teeth and reaches for his glasses, Eddy suddenly in focus, dazed and half asleep kneeling on the bed, his elbows straight struggling to keep himself upright.

Brett flips him off, screams a bit to gather courage, says 'I love you so bad it hurts, fuck.'

'Hah? No yeah, that's fine, it's good' and he can breathe again. Eddy comes back to bed face down and he hears from the pillow half words, something like 'Shhh sleep now, it's alright, we talk tomorrow yeah? I'm here bro shhhhh-' and it's obvious he's been asleep the entire time, unbothered by how wet his sheets are now. 

Brett thinks 'I'll tickle you until you pee yourself' viciously and 'you'll beg and no one will hear' but then he feels his body unwinding with a pop, the pinpricks coming off and he can settle back into his bones. There's relieved soreness licking at his muscles and worried surprise that the pain has lifted even if Eddy might not remember come morning. He doesn't know the rules to how this works but he hasn't actually slept in three days. He can't live off inappropriate thirst alone. 

Brett rethinks his amazing taste in friends when the first thing Eddy does the next day is to dump half a bottle of water over him. He flails, falls off the bed, isn't articulated enough to swear, is blind enough to think he's being attacked and the bathroom door closes before he fully comes online. By the light from the window it's already late morning and for one, he's surprised that Eddy remembers. Of course Brett has considered rejection, expected it, but the petty anger throws his off completely. He worries that he might have lost the right to quiet Eddy's anxiety when he hears a limb hitting the sink, water spraying and some uncoordinated tripping over the trash can. 

The door flies open. Brett stops with a new dry shirt just over his head. Eddy is still trying to brush his teeth while he thinks, holds one hand under his chin just in case, squints the way he does when he's sight reading, unsure. 'Were you hurt last night or did you drench me for nothing? I can't believe you did that by the way, far out.' Brett is sure he must have swallowed some of the toothpaste to talk. 

'That's my toothbrush again.' 

'Yeah no' -checks- 'oh it is, sorry.' Eddy looks at Brett and then at Brett's toothbrush in his hand and asks 'Hey no, didn't you say you love me?'

'Okay so, it was starting to hurt. I had to?' opens his hands, shrugs, he knows he sounds defensive, wonders if he needs any excuse at all. 

'Hurt? You alright? Wait no, what, as in that true love thing you have?' and then 'What the fuck, you waited until you were crying again?' 

He slaps his hands on the outside of his legs and the whites of his eyes must be showing from how far back Brett rolls his eyes. 'Nah nah nah nah, I never said that, it's not true love, god. I'm fine, thanks.' 

Eddy's face is still hard with worry, with having to repeat the same shit over the years and keep being ignored so he says 'I woke you up though, right.' guiltily and goes for a joke, asks what prince even has that many true loves. 

Gets an annoyed 'oooh you're a prince now, I see how this is.' and Eddy's grandmotherly tendencies must be appeased. Brett regrets ever saying anything, regrets having this conversation only half dressed. 'Does that make me the common girl?' He can see Edwina through the cracks goddammit. 

Eddy must sense his pain, plasters a satisfied grin on his dumb face and spares him, goes back to rinse. Brett feels slightly better with his shirt fully on but wants to die at the high pitched 'ayy Mr. Yang where did we left off' that he gets from the bathroom. Eddy comes to him and he stands the way he does right before playing a piece he hasn't practiced. 'So we make out now.' 

Brett is sure his nose scrunches up at that, somewhere between confusion and wrongness, splutters before he can produce any proper speech. 'What. No? You're not gay and I'm- uhm, I'm whatever, but you don't have to do anything.' 

'And the pain thing?' 

'Already confessed, I'm good. Thanks though.' Adjusts his glasses. 

'And if I wanted to?' 

Brett bites down on the fuck off bro he has on his tongue because Eddy's fingers are wrapping already around his wrist and it's warm and a bit sweaty and yeah, ok, he might have thought about them before. He has absolute certainty that Eddy isn't attracted to him the way he wants him to. But. 

'You don't. You're bored now so you think it's a good idea, which it isn't by the way. You're gonna pussy out bro and, you know. The tour.'

'Dude, come on, what was it. Breddy? We might as well' and there's an arm around him and a hand over his hipbone, laughter inside the chest pressed to his. Eddy feels taller from up close. 'I don't mind.' Brett looks up, sees what Eddy's violin must see when he's playing Sibelius. 

And maybe Eddy isn't attracted to him like that but he knows he's loved at least halfway. He could have this, for a while. It's always better to know. He thumps his forehead on the collarbone in front of him, wiggles his fingers between his ribs so hard Eddy goes down squeaking, folds over himself and rolls away.

'Dinner first bro, Mrs.Chen didn't raise a pig.' 

They go sightseeing and it isn't any different. Brett will learn to live with mellow need always at the base of his spine. It spikes now, not unwanted, because Eddy seems to have grown excess limbs. A hip poking against his, a shoe tapping against his sneakers. There's hands in Brett's hair, on the back of his neck and at his sides, a very sacrilegious one pushing to get inside the back pocket of his jeans and Eddy hasn't grown beyond playing footsie under the table. He doesn't choke on his coffee because he was raised right, but can't risk looking for too long, can't muster up the right feeling to tell him to piss off properly. He's tried, remembered how Eddy checks if girls like him by the size of their pupils. Brett refuses to be called out on that in public. 

It only goes downhill.The second they're back in their room he has fingers pressing into the violin bruise under his jaw, tilting his head up, there's the shape of a mouth he's been guessing at in the dip at the side of his neck and ok, oh. 

He knew the height difference makes Eddy fold over him in a hug, has known since he was nineteen. But now Eddy's hand at his back pushes Brett to bend backwards and his spine gives with a crack. He might be too old for this, for Eddy's giggling like a live thing against his throat, he shakes with it. 

Brett shouldn't be so surprised that Eddy approaches this the same way he practices, shouldn't feel like he's been told he has to play viola again. Brett thinks 'this isn't right' even as he burns, pushes at the hands that hold him and bodily handles Eddy into the bathroom, pretends to be sleeping when he comes out. 

He frets through the night, wakes up in time to see Eddy sitting by his thighs, at the edge of his own bed, soft bronze halo of sunrise around his hair. Brett takes the hand offered, maneuvers himself upright next to Eddy, remembers the push and pull of control when they perform. 

They kiss with their sides pressed flush, their fingers woven through each other. 

It's slow and soft until it isn't, until Eddy's front teeth dig into his lower lip, he knows it's only half intentional, mostly out of anatomy, makes a half noise and his mouth falls slack open. He wants his skin to break and bleed, to keep the shape of that imprint. He feels Eddy's mouth curl into the smile he knows but then his tongue is dragging over Brett's sharper canine teeth, swallowing his shame, and he's relieved he's not alone in this. Their ankles cross each other by themselves. 

Brett's breathing comes out shaky when they stop, has to count to stop shivering, has to press his thumb harder to the inside of Eddy's elbow. There's a foot petting his own and Eddy pushing his entire face into Brett's hair, kissing the top of his ear. 

Edwina says 'oh you naughty boy you like my teeth' and Eddy laughs because he thinks it's fun but Brett would suck him off right now if he asked.

Their flights get easier, Eddy drools on him, questions Brett's faithfulness every time he gets bodily searched in Customs.

They have to do double, triple shows, Brett drinks coffee mixed with Coke and his heart goes into overdrive even before he steps on stage because he turned to the hellish chant of 'oi bro brooo bro Brett bro dude' and got kissed hard enough for his mouth to bruise.

They meet Hilary Hahn and she is wonderful, skilled and sharp and better than he imagined. She is so insightful he fears she might see. Eddy makes his fifth joke about their bad intonation, Hilary laughs, dabs, says 'well, you sure are in tune with each other', looks Brett in the eye like she knows. 

They try to encourage her over the Ice Princess name and get back a blood freezing 'I know but it's a bit like people shipping you two, isn't it?' There's mirth in the way she asks so Brett breathes through the panic, doesn't move his face, wants to murder Eddy on the spot when he full body turns to him, the spitting image of confused pikachu meme, like he's going to confess that he isn't into Brett sexually but cares enough to pretend he might be. 

Their rooms still have two beds but he always wakes overheated under Eddy's unconscious and uncomfortable bulk, the level of contortion needed to extract himself unbelievable. Brett isn't flexible. They kiss all the same. 

Eddy touches him constantly and it isn't enough. Brett thinks about fucking him into the mattress but the technicality of actually having sex freaks him out, he ends up sad wanking in the shower, his own fingers pushed into his mouth. Eddy will get scared eventually and he'll be left with the vibrations of toothy giggles burned into his skin. He can't risk knowing more than that.

He isn't above teenage angst but really fucking wishes he would be. Wishes his true love curse thingy back just so he'd stop getting hard over knees, out of all things. 

The last girl in their signing queue likes Brett. It's in the way she picks at her hands when she shifts her eyes to him, in the way her voice breaks at the end of words, in the way she doesn't admit that Brett is her favorite but lights up from inside when she sees him laughing, her pupils huge. The thought that she is trying very hard to be polite about it makes it worse and Eddy is suddenly all over her, asks whether she'd like a photo, cradles her to his left and motions Brett to his other side. 

Eddy becomes quiet after, moves less, moves slower. At night he comes to Brett's bed, curls up away from him, pushes cold feet up his calves, says 'I thought you were gonna ditch me'. It's slightly offensive how he remembers Brett's type in girls but can't recognize all-consuming need in between their petting. He does what he can, turns and spoons Eddy, body too short and chest too heavy, a leg thrown over a thigh. 

'You're the best common girl I could ask for' kissed into his spine, because he's already said 'I love you'.

They go home after too long. 

It's familiarly hot and the bubble tea from their local store tastes sexy enough to mellow him out. Eddy suspiciously leaves the room on his first sip (bite?) with burning ears, returns after Brett manages to turn back solid. They rest and they plan, he goes over to Eddy's so that Mrs.Chen can fuss over him properly, can feed them to her heart's content. If she notices anything wrong in how he watches Eddy do the dishes, she doesn't mention it, only keeps running her hand through Brett's hair, the way she used to do when he was fourteen and bitter at having lost another competition. For once, his own mom's hug doesn't feel suffocating. 

He doesn't forget that Eddy only pretends but he sees him come alive in front of the camera, can't help but fall deeper for how his mind works, for the weight of his laughter and the gentle competition that Brett makes rise in him. He starts humming random notes just to give Eddy an excuse to flex his perfect pitch. He's going to hurt in the end, with or without his curse, so he might as well take all that Eddy allows him, for as long as he's able.

They both keep a pile of merch at home. He tries to feel ashamed at picking shirts he knows Eddy's worn beforehand. It takes two weeks of filming for his one true love to figure it out and even then he flushes harder than Brett does. 

The first time he comes to Eddy on his own, he loses control immediately. He grabs too hard at Eddy's hip, his other hand fisted in the back of his shirt, stands on his tiptoes too quickly and they end up knocking teeth, going down to the floor laughing painfully and in a flurry of limbs. Brett only has time to hook a leg behind Eddy's knee to keep him on his back but there's an arm across the small of his back steadying him anyway. He's pressing softly enough in between Eddy's ribs to be unbearable, to make him squirm and wiggle like an oversized worm. He asks 'yes?', gets a half annoyed half fond 'mate, actually? yeah, fuck, come on'. 

Eddy must taste blood in his mouth because he's making wounded noises all of a sudden, not far from begging, pushes up into Brett's hipbone at an angle and Brett's vision goes red. He bites down on the empty place where Eddy's violin hickey usually forms, has half a mind not to break skin. There's a hand at the side of his face but he can't take that right now, holds it down to the carpet and opens his thighs wider for Eddy's leg. It's all kinds of uncomfortable through the clothes and he's never done this and Eddy's dick is bigger for sure and his own dick might fall off if he stops and oh, alright, he's definitely going to come in his pants from this because. 

Eddy.

Eddy watches. 

Eddy's eyes are unfocused, there's some spit at the side of his mouth from trying to kiss through the rocking and he's whining in the back of his throat, lips open around the sound. He's barely conscious anymore but he keeps watching Brett with pupils blown wide, keeps asking for his mouth. 

Brett comes mostly because Eddy does first. It's probably the hottest thing he's ever seen. He's floating two centimeters off the floor right until it becomes sticky and gross. 

He's breathing heavy into flushed skin, barely gathers his brain enough to think 'maybe he isn't lying' before Eddy slaps his ass hard enough to make him squeak. There's a complicated 'again' spoken against his sweaty hairline. And then. 

'Brett. I love you but if you fall asleep right now I'll cry.' 

Brett can hear muted Tchaikovsky. He wonders feverishly if perfect pitch translates somehow into perfectly having sex and perfectly knowing what eats at him and generally being perfect. Perfect dick as well, maybe.

His brain is melting. 

Brett goes up to kiss Eddy and his curse lifts forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Edwina is there so that I can safely pussy out of heavy things. Wig definitely snatched. I did my best.


End file.
